


At The End Of Every Darkness

by loves_books



Series: Grace [1]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 23:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10372005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: These nights are always the hardest, out here in the field and reliant on nothing but their own battle-honed instincts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> One hour, one idea, two fandoms. Unbetaed and unrelated apart from the title, obviously, but sometimes I find it good to just get something written and posted. The title and inspiration comes from a line in the beautiful song 'Grace' by Rag'n'Bone Man:
> 
>  
> 
> _At the end of every darkness there's a morning._

These nights are always the hardest, out here in the field and reliant on nothing but their own battle-honed instincts. 

Never the nights when there are IEDs exploding on all sides, though, or the nights when they have to force themselves to keep moving across dangerous terrain for fear of being shot. No, those nights are almost easy, in a strange way. He knows how to deal with those nights. On those nights, he simply does whatever it takes to survive, and to get his team through it in one piece.

No, it’s the quiet nights that are the hardest. The nights when his mind twists and turns, and the shadows seem to come alive. The nights when loneliness weighs heavily on him, crushing his chest and making it hard to breathe, though of course he is rarely alone. Tonight is one of the hardest nights he can remember facing in a long while, in spite of the fact that there are nine other men lying close by. 

It’s so quiet, almost painfully so. His close-knit team of four are working with a small team of British SAS on a rare joint mission. Worse still, it’s one of those missions where they aren’t told much, just given a direction and a time, then told to hold position and await further instructions. 

It’s quiet, dry, and reasonably warm – each of them has spent far less pleasant nights sleeping rough in the field, and they each have sleeping bags though they daren’t light a fire. Cold MREs sit heavily in their bellies as they lay down to rest, and the two teams had spent some time bonding, laughing and sharing tales of their adventures as the dimming light of evening turned to the darkness of night.

Now their camp is quiet, but it’s not just the quiet that makes it so hard tonight. He feels safe enough. As safe as he ever feels, anyway, this far out beyond the front lines. He trusts these men, just as they trust him. They should all be able to get some sleep, and he can already hear a symphony of snores from the surrounding sleeping bags, though his own eyes remain stubbornly wide open.

It’s like an itch in the back of his mind. Like an almost physical twitch in his hands, his arms feeling empty and aching. It’s the very last thing he should be thinking of. They’ve always agreed, never on a mission – on a mission they have to be Lieutenant and Colonel, nothing more and nothing less. But.

But still he longs to reach out and pull his partner into his arms. He feels a ridiculous need to know the other man is safely by his side, though in the moonlight he can just about make out the familiar shadowy shape of those broad shoulders and long body, lying only a few feet away from him.

Might as well be a few klicks. Or the other side of the world.

He wants to hold him, no matter how selfish that might be, or at least to zip their sleeping bags together so he can slot their bodies closer, unseen by the rest of the world. To wrap his arms around all that strong muscle. To press his nose to the nape of the other man’s neck and just breathe him in. He could sleep easy, then, holding the man he loves.

If it was just the four of them, he knows he would have given in and done it already, using the flimsy excuse of sharing body heat. But that won’t ring true on such a mild night and he wouldn’t dare, not with an unfamiliar team along for the ride. He has to content himself with just being close, and knowing in his gut that they are both safe enough, for now.

It’s been a week since they’ve been able to lose themselves in each other completely, with no thought or care for others. It could be weeks more before they have the opportunity again. Assuming neither of them is injured, or worse. 

That’s a thought he pushes away forcefully – it doesn’t do to dwell on what-ifs, not in their line of work. Doubts or hesitations can be fatal. And it’s his job to keep them both alive, though he knows his brave and brilliant partner feels the exact same way.

The night seems so long, and the darkness is almost absolute each time the moon dips behind passing clouds. He manages to sleep a little at some point, a light doze that hopefully allows his body to rest even if his mind can’t switch off, but he’s functioned for far longer on far less. He knows it won’t impact their mission.

He’s even pathetically grateful when it comes time to take his turn on patrol, and it’s so much easier to be on his feet and moving, with every sense tuned to his surroundings. He focusses on keeping his sleeping men safe through what’s left of the seemingly endless darkness, treading carefully over the unfamiliar ground with gun in hand, eyes and ears straining to see moving shadows or hear the slightest noise.

Back to his sleeping bag then, and another hour of restlessness and longing until finally, blessedly, the sky begins to lighten. Even the darkest night must finally give way to morning, and this particular one is brilliantly bright, washing the world clean again, a gift from a God he isn’t sure he believes in anymore. 

Their camp comes slowly back to life and as the men all stir around him, preparing to start the day, his partner finally rolls over in his own sleeping bag. Their eyes meet across the dew-damp ground, blue on blue, and they share a small, secret smile.

They’ve always been good at communicating without words. They’ve had to be, being who they are and doing what they do, in the dangerous world they inhabit. That smile says everything, far more eloquently than a thousand words ever could. That smile says ‘I love you’ and ‘please be careful’. 

And it gives him the strength to climb to his feet, ready to face the new morning and whatever the day may bring.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to leave this open to interpretation as to whether these are Hannibal or Face's thoughts. I know who I think it is, but it changed perspective a few times while I was writing it - I'd love to know who any readers feel it might be.


End file.
